


The Longest Night

by cleo4u2, xantissa



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dubious Consent, Happy Ending, M/M, Overt Religious Themes, Period Fiction, Priest!Steve, Religious Conflict, Self-Flagellation, Vampire!Bucky, mild dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 03:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: Father Steve Rogers is a former vampire hunter. James Barnes is a vampire seeking death or redemption. One long night will change their futures forever.





	The Longest Night

**Author's Note:**

> All hail our beta, [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile). OBEY THE GLOW CLOUD!

Objectively, Steve knows his reflexes have dulled over the past few years. He’s a priest now, ministering to a small town out where no one will recognize him, and he likes his life. It’s _quiet_ , simple, and he’s ensuring these people find salvation. 

He still wishes he had noticed the vampire before it taps him on the shoulder. 

The church is small and drafty, the doors creak and the floorboards groan, but he didn’t hear the man enter. Vampires can’t hide their condition, not when their eyes glow with the blood they ingest, so Steve knows what he’s looking at the moment they lock eyes, little good that does him. A vampire this close is a death sentence, if that’s what the creature desires. Steve isn’t armed, or armored; his robe is hardly convenient for fighting. He’s not dead yet, so there’s still hope.

Vampires are silent in ways that humans simply aren't. Big too. This one has wide shoulders with muscles stretching a tailored, soft, leather jacket. His clothes and bearing indicate familiarity with wealth, and what’s really alarming, training. It’s a soldier’s stance the vampire has adopted, legs spread to lower his center of gravity, and Steve swallows, discouraged to know that while he is already in the weakened position, this one would _also_ be difficult to defeat. 

It’s too late to wipe the surprise and recognition from his face, but Steve tries to school his expression into something friendly and curious as he asks, “Are you here for confession?”

The vampire’s long hair is messy, curls falling out of a silk ribbon that isn’t managing to control them. In the shadows of the church, Steve can see the flickers of red from behind the messy strands. There’s a deeper shadow that splits the stark cheekbones and angular jawbone. He can't see him clearly, but, Steve assumes this one is as handsome as he is dangerous. All vampires are. It does make luring their victims easier. 

“Yes.” The voice is broken. Not the smooth baritone Steve is expecting. It has quiet gravel that scratches at Steve’s ears. A sound that carries pain and despair, not something he expects from a vampire. Yet, it’s the answer that is most surprising. Vampires and the Church don’t exactly get along.

Steve doesn’t touch the vampire, like he would a man. The feeling of his skin can set them off, especially when they haven’t been feeding, and Steve can see this one hasn’t. The skin is too loose, too pale; not tight and flushed from a recent kill. The vampire is starving, and that makes him more dangerous than ever, but Steve won’t - can’t - turn him away. Not after what he’s learned.

“What’s your name?” Steve asks, keeping calm.

“James,” the vampire answers, and Steve wants to offer him water to soothe his throat, but knows it will do no good. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“I’m glad you’ve come to me, James.” It’s only slightly a lie, and only that because Steve is also worried this is going to be his last night on Earth. “Come, sit. Let’s talk.”

Steve gestures, leading Bucky into the pews. Not the confessional; he wants to be able to see this vampire, watch him, even if he doesn’t stand a chance in a fight. There’s no one here this time of night anyway, just Steve, the saints in the stained glass windows, and the candles guttering in their votives. No one will hear whatever the vampire - James - has to say.

“Forgive me, Father,” James starts, haltingly, searching for the words he probably hasn’t used in a long time. For a moment, Steve wonders if the words themselves hurt as James continues, “for I have sinned.” James stops and coughs, raising one gloved hand to his mouth. Steve hasn’t seen it often, but he was trained in the signs. It was a warning, then. A vampire that hasn’t fed can go into a feeding frenzy, murdering dozens before it has gorged itself completely. “It’s been a very long time since I have last been to confession.”

“What’s brought you back to us, James?” 

Steve thinks he knows, guesses - _hopes -_ but he won’t put the words in James’ mouth.

“I…” James swallows. “I don’t want to be like this.” The cough that interrupts him his dry, and rattling. “I want to change. I want to be saved.” 

A shudder wracks James body, hard enough Steve can see it. He doesn't like the state James is in. He reeks of starvation and desperation, but, as much as Steve would love to just trust his apparent penance, he knows vampires. He knows that after a certain point in their long lives, they lose whatever mind they have. They become nothing but hunger. 

“God can help,” Steve promises, “if you truly desire salvation. If you truly want to atone.”

“I want to,” James says. “I want that more than anything.” He reaches out a gloved hand and wraps it around Steve’s shoulder. The grip is hard, but not painful. Steve is grateful for the layers separating them, though, as much as he’s wary of such closeness. “I will do anything to atone for the pain I have caused.” His words turn feverish, stumbling over each other. “For the lives I took, the things I’ve done… I wish to atone. I will take any punishment, will do anything.”

Tentative as he is to touch the vampire, Steve makes himself cover James’ hand with his own.

“Tell me,” he says quietly, “when was the last time you fed?”

“Two weeks.”

It’s a long time, but Steve isn’t in danger of being the vampire’s first meal when he snaps. Not yet.

“Why aren’t you feeding, James?” That’s what Steve really wants to know. The answer will tell Steve more about James’ true intentions than anything else he can ask. Like humans, vampires don’t forego food without reason.

“I don’t want to kill anymore. _I can’t_.” His hand clenches down painfully, and Steve barely restrains a gasp. “I want to be rid of this cursed hunger, or be rid of this cursed life,” he hisses, harsh and desperate. “It has to stop, or you will stop it.”

Steve blinks, surprised for the second time that night. 

“That’s why you’ve come to _me_ ,” he says aloud.

“A merchant recognized you,” James whispers, hand loosening, but Steve will still bruise. “He said that the captain was now a holy man in this tiny place.” James raises his head, face finally catching the pale light of the sparse candles, and showing Steve just how beautiful he is, even under all the misery. “I knew you would grant me salvation. One way or the other.”

Though it’s on the tip of his tongue, Steve doesn’t say he’d left that life behind for a reason. This _is_ the reason. Vampires aren’t the pure evil the Church teaches. They are as varied as man in their desires and motives, and Steve would not play judge, jury, and executioner any longer.

“Alright,” Steve tugs at the hand on his shoulder, turning it over so James’ hand lays palm up in his lap, “but you must do something for me first, James.”

“Anything,” James whispers.

“It won’t be easy. It will be dangerous.” Steve isn’t sure this isn’t the dumbest thing he’s ever done, but it’s going to be up there. “But if you truly wish to atone, if that is what you want,” James nods, eyes fever bright, “you have to feed, James -”

“No!”

“- and you must do it without killing me.”

“I can’t! I don’t want to be like that anymore!”

“You can’t conquer the hunger,” Steve says earnestly, tightening his hold on the vampire’s wrist. “If you don’t feed, you _will_ kill someone. This way, here and now, you have control. Exercise it.”

James licks his lips and sounds desperate when he says, “I don’t want to kill anymore.” 

“So don’t.” Steve knows it’s not that simple, but at the same time it is. This choice is in James’ hands. “I don’t want to die.” Turning his hand around, he lays his wrist in the vampire’s hand. “I believe you can do this. I know it’s possible.”

James looks down at the wrist Steve offers, eyes gaining a red glow that Steve learned to associate with danger. The hunger changes James’ aura. Where he was submissive and desperate before, now Steve can sense the aura of danger that spreads out from the vampire.

“Are you certain?” 

The question is surprisingly formal, spoken slowly even though James doesn’t take his eyes off the wrist held loose in his grip, but the answer is simple.

“Yes.”

James reaches behind himself and pulls out a long, sharp blade that glints briefly in the weak candlelight. He flips it in his hand, clearly unwilling to let go of Steve’s wrist, and offers it handle-first to Steve.

“If I… If you see me lose control… please, Father.”

James is quiet and sure, his red eyes finally meeting Steve’s. Steve swallows. When he‘d donned the cassock, he’d sworn to lead and protect, not to kill. Killing is a sin he wishes never to repeat again. Yet, looking into the anguished eyes, he can’t refuse.

“If there’s no other choice. But _only_ then.”

James nods, wet strands of hair falling into his face, and lifts Steve’s wrist with both hands, as if it’s a sacrament.

“God is with you,” Steve whispers, believing with his whole heart that if James tries hard enough he can overcome the bloodlust and can receive God’s mercy. It won’t be easy, but he trusts, in God and in James.

James doesn’t answer with words, but he opens his mouth wide, the sharp canines lengthening as Steve watches - white and dangerous - and then he presses them against Steve’s skin. 

Steve shudders at the surprisingly hot, wet breath that fans against the sensitive skin of his wrist, and then James bites. The teeth break his skin and Steve shudders again. The pain is minor, dismissable, but the soft lips on his skin? Harder to ignore. They press to his pulse and something flickers against his skin, delicate and fleeting. Then again, and Steve sucks in a breath. James’ tongue, lapping at the wound, teasing his skin. Steve has to close his eyes, hold his breath, as his attraction to a beautiful man turns into desire. 

It’s a sin Steve is all too familiar with, one he had hidden before he’d sworn his vows and taken the cloth, and all the more shameful now that he has. He holds as still as he can, tries to focus on anything other than the teasing, tantalizing touch, but there’s nothing. There is only James, the caress of his tongue, and the gentle suction of his lips. 

The moment stretches, endless and frustrating, until Steve can’t hold his breath any more. He gasps, the sound shockingly loud in the silent church. James neither reacts, nor stops. His eyes are closed, dark lashes fanning over cheeks slowly regaining their life’s glow. The shadows cast by the flickering candles are kind to James, casting his cheekbones into sharp relief. Steve’s eyes can’t leave the planes of James face, the beautiful shape of his jaw, or the lush stretch of lips that wrap around Steve’s flesh. He’s beautiful.

Each breath Steve takes is like fire, scorching his lungs and igniting his blood. He wonders if James can taste it, wonders if the vampire will learn this secret from his taste, and throbs at the thought. Steve is as ashamed of himself as he aroused, and knows he will have to punish himself for this later, when he is alone. It’s unseemly of a man of the cloth, a man devoted to God, to want anyone, let alone another man. 

Then, with a ragged gasp, James surges up. Steve’s wrist is still gripped in his hand, dimples of blood dark on his skin and staining James’ lips, but he’s stopped. He’s stopped, and Steve isn’t even light-headed.

“Will that be enough?” Steve asks, wishing his voice had come out normally and not rough like sandpaper. He hates the part of himself that wants James to continue, to take more, just so he can have that mouth on him again. Yet, James nods, and Steve stomps on his heart when it dares to be disappointed.

James’ eyes are glowing, deep and dark red, a mark of power and potential Steve is ignorant of. Those red orbs lock onto his gaze and hold it, as if James is reaching into Steve’s very soul. 

“No,” James says in a rough, gravelly voice, “nothing is ever enough.”

“Then why stop?” Steve asks.

“Because this _should_ be enough.”

The intensity of James’ words is as captivating as the touch of his mouth. Steve is lost, drowning, and knows it.

Swallowing hard, he gets quickly to his feet. The only solution is to escape this man, if only for tonight. He will atone, and in the morning he won’t feel this way.

“There’s a guest room in the vicarage.” Steve swallows again and doesn’t meet James’ gaze. “In the morning, we’ll discuss where you can go from here. There are a few towns I know of for people like you.”

He’s taken a single step when James says, “People?” and Steve’s heart aches.

“ _People_ ,” Steve says with emphasis, “who want to live with God, who want to live in harmony. You can have a life there. Support.”

“You will cast me out?” 

There’s something close to betrayal in James’ voice and it’s all that could get Steve to turn around and face him again.

“No,” he says sincerely, his own heart twisting at the thought of never seeing James again, “but it is too dangerous for you here. Few have seen what I have seen, that not all vampires are the demons the Church claims they are. If you’re found, you’ll be killed.”

“I do not fear death.”

Steve smiles, feeling kinship with this vampire he’s known less than an hour.

“It is harder to live than to die.” Without his permission, his hand reaches out and swipes a drop of blood off James’ lip. His entire body flushes, and he turns away again. “They’ll expect me to kill you, James, and I’ve left that life behind me.”

“If there’s anyone who I would want to stop this wretched heart of mine...” Steve almost interrupts, almost shouts at the vampire, but then James grabs Steve’s hand and presses his palm against his chest. He is forced to turn and feel the strong thunder of the organ under skin and cloth. “I would rather it be you.” James’ grip is warm and strong where his fingers wrap around Steve's bones. “For you have shown me kindness.” James shifts, his other hand wrapping around Steve’s upper arm, pulling him a little closer. Close enough he can smell James’ skin and the wet wool of his jacket. “Gave me sustenance and hope.” James’ eyes burn, staring into Steve’s with fervor. “Do with me what you will, Father.”

“You do not know what you ask me,” Steve says, the words coming out desperate and hushed instead of the iron he wants to put in them. He starts to pull away, but James’ hands don’t budge and he can’t bring himself to fight him. Instead he says, “You ask me to do what you cannot, what I swore I’d never do again. You are not _evil_. Your life isn’t mine to take, it’s not anyone's, not when you can control yourself.”

“I haven’t ‘til now,” James says passionately, shamefully. He shifts and Steve can feel the way his chest flexes against Steve’s palm where it’s still pressed against him. It sends a thrill of desire down his spine and wasn’t that why he was trying to leave? Yet he can’t just go, not when a man is so insistent of death, when he might commit the most egregious of sins.

“Are you willing to atone?” Steve said, a hint of iron back in his voice, but not enough to hide how breathless he’s become. There is fire under his skin, a desire that he swore to root out of his body. A body that belongs to God now, not mortals.

James’ eyes burn.

“You know I am.”

“Then _that_ is what matters.” Steve takes a ragged breath. “Atonement; your life is God’s. You can do more good alive than you ever could dead.” He has to go, has to get distance, has to go down on his knees and ask God for forgiveness for the sinful desire stirring under his skin, for the way his eyes keep coming back to James’, and the way his palm aches and stings with the need to press harder against the firm flesh he can feel under his touch. “I will promise you this: If you try and fail, I will stop your heart, but only if you _try_ , James. Death is not freedom. It is not atonement. It is the coward’s way. We do not deserve an easy way out.”

James bows his head, shamed, and lets go of Steve’s shoulder.

“I will try,” James whispers, lifting Steve’s wrist from his chest, to his lips. Steve’s lungs burn with the way he stops himself from making any sound when James’ lips touch the back of his hand. “I swear, Father, I will try with all my might.”

“Then I will see you in the morning.” 

Steve’s voice is a whisper, but the church is quiet enough he doesn’t have to repeat himself. He draws away, praying he doesn’t look like the love-struck child he feels like. No one has made Steve’s heart beat like this, not in his twenty five years of life, and here is this vampire who -

Wrenching his thoughts away, Steve turns around and hurries away. His breath is ragged in his chest, his heart pounding, and his cock aches in the confines of his robes. Whoever thought to make them so heavy should be blessed as it hides his reaction from any prying eyes. The hardness makes his heart beat faster, excitement warring with shame as he flees James’ presence. There is no other choice, however. He can’t stay, no matter how rude he might be, not when staying means soaking in these feelings, this sin. There’s only one way to chase them from his body and mind. At least, only one that Steve knows.

His feet thump on the stone floor, as loud as the pounding of his heart in his ears. The ache of his cock makes his heart hurt. When he’d chosen this life he’d made vows to God, vows of chastity, of obedience, and purity. Steve is anything _but_ pure, and the electricity in his blood makes him anything but chaste. This isn’t the first time, however. He knows this path all to well, which is his secret shame. There will be no dinner tonight, not with such sin on his brow. He will fast and atone, offering his blood and pain as penance, praying to be forgiven for his transgressions.

The door to his meager quarters thumps solidly at his back and Steve turns the corner. The flog hangs there, dangling from a hook, the dark leather already stained with his blood. What has it been, a month since last his flesh burned with desire? Less? Steve’s stomach knots, easing some of the ache in his groin. He should be better than this… this… _weakness_.

Stripping down to his small clothes, Steve neatly folds his robes and takes the flogger in hand. His hand shakes with the knowledge of what is to come, but he faces the crucifix in his room - the symbol of his faith. The sight of it is both calming and shaming, a mute witness to his repeated failures.

He kneels, the hard wooden floor hurting his knees. There’s a small rug not far from him, but he won’t use it. This is punishment, it’s supposed to be uncomfortable. He reaches for the rosary hanging from his neck and pulls it off. He kisses the simple, metal cross and crosses himself with it. Then he puts it on the bed, unwilling to damage the polished beads that his mentor gifted him so many years ago.

“My God,” he begins. The words are punctuated by the swish and smack of the flog as he swings it through the air with all his might. The first strike stings from his left shoulder, to the middle of his back, but it doesn’t break skin. There will be a long, red line of welts on his skin, though he can’t see it.

“I am sorry for my sins, with all my heart.” Another blow, this time upon his right side. “In choosing to do wrong.” 

When the flog hits his skin, Steve gasps. Welts cover welts, and the pain blossoms like a fire across his flesh. He’s barely begun, but does not hesitate to continue. 

“And failing to do good…” 

This is his sin, his disgrace, his eternal shame. No man devoted to God and Christ, as he should be, would fall to such pleasures of the flesh. James came to him for _help_ , for salvation, and Steve lusted for his flesh, for his mouth. 

“I have sinned against you…”

James’ words whisper through his mind and Steve hits himself harder. _Do with me what you will, Father._ Oh, and Steve wants to. The things he wants to do to James are twisted up in his head with his desire to save the vampire. He should be better. He should _be better_.

“...whom I should love above all things.”

This blow draws blood, and Steve can’t contain his whimper of pain. There are scars on his back - some white, some pink - but all testament of his weak heart. He needs to be stronger, to purge this weakness from his body.

“I firmly intend, with your help…” The skin on his other side splits as well. “...to do penance…” He can’t contain the cry of pain as the flog rips open every welt he’s made. It would be so easy to pull his blows, to fake his atonement, but he won’t. He _can’t_. “...to sin no more…” 

Blood flies as he swings the flog and he cries out when it connects. His hands shake, his body trembles, and he has to take a moment to collect himself before he can lift his arm again.

“...and to avoid whatever leads me to sin.”

The sound of the door slamming open is a violent thing, a crack that thunders though his ears. A cold wind sweeps in, a roar that is not in his ears at all. The flogger, already arching through the air to meet his bleeding back, wraps around something else instead. Skin - Steve would know that sound in his dreams - and he’s startled enough he doesn’t resist as the flogger is ripped away hard enough it stings his palm.

“ _No_.” 

The growl is inhuman in its rage. James is above him, the heavy jacket discarded somewhere else, his hair barely kept at bay by the silk ribbon as its ends trail over his shoulder. His white shirt, smooth and billowing, is open at the throat, laces loose so Steve’s eyes can feast upon the defined edges of his collarbones. He stares down at Steve, the flogger still in his hand, strands of blood-slick leather wrapped around his bare fingers. There’s anger and something else in his eyes, something Steve doesn't have the courage to name.

“No,” James repeats, turning his incensed gaze on the flogger in his hands. His nostrils flare and he growls, throwing the bloody implement away so hard it marks the wall where it strikes and splinters before falling to the stone floor.

Steve finds his voice, though he doesn’t know how.

“How dare you,” he hisses. “What do you think you’re _doing_?”

“Me?” The growl is still present in his voice as James comes even closer, so close his thick thigh brushes Steve’s shoulder. “You spill your own blood, the blood I tasted not minutes ago, so close to me, and you ask what I’m doing?”

Admittedly, Steve had not thought of that. He’d only thought of his sin, of his punishment, and his prayer for forgiveness. If he had, though, he’d have thought James far enough away not to smell him. Nevertheless, he finds his outrage again quickly. No matter what he’s doing, James should not barge into his private rooms, or interrupt his _private_ prayers.

“This is my room,” Steve says, “My _private_ room. You are interrupting my prayers, and should know better, no matter what you _smell_.”

“This is insanity,” James snarls. 

Steve notices that there are dark welts over James’ fingers where the flogger bit into his skin. James uses his other hand to grip Steve’s shoulder and heave him up. The power is breathtaking, spurring his blood, because he is not yet ready to face James again. He hadn’t _finished_.

“It is not your place to say what I must do to atone for my sins.” The iron is gone from Steve’s tone, melted under James’ touch. 

_Damn the man_ , he thinks, and jerks away. He had been trying. He’d _wanted_ to do better. He doesn’t want this ache in his chest, in his groin, or the way his skin tingles from that brief contact.

“And is your _penance_ ,” James spits the words, “making any difference?” He takes a step closer to Steve, trying to intimidate, to loom over him, but it doesn't quite work; their heights are too evenly matched. Steve does shrink away, but only because he fears touching this man any more, and his lack of clothing makes that all too easy. “Does it quench the lust?”

Steve’s throat bobs as he swallows and feels the blood rush from his face. With his hands at his sides, he doesn’t think James will notice the way they shake, but clasps them together nonetheless. He doesn’t know how James knows, but it’s at once horrifying and freeing that he does.

With a whisper, Steve says, "That is between me and God.” He doesn’t say that it does. He does not wish to admit, especially to James, that he can beat the lust out of himself. That the only time he _doesn’t_ feel the want is when he’s shaking and in agony, barely able to pick himself off the floor.

“I saw your back,” James says, clearly attempting to calm himself with deep breaths. “I saw the scars.” He licks his lips and Steve can’t stop his gaze following that pink, darting tongue. “One day, you won't have flesh enough to martyr.” 

Steve doesn’t answer. Part of him knows James is right, but he doesn’t want it to be true. He wants to serve God, to make up for the pain of his past. If this is what he must do to follow that path, so be it.

“If it’s pain you crave,” James says slowly, “I can give it to you.”

“I don’t,” Steve admits, squeezing his hands together so the blood flees his fingertips, “but if you seek to give what I desire, I wish you to leave so I may finish.”

“You want me to give you what you desire?” James asks, stepping closer so that Steve has to back up. There isn’t much room to flee, and Steve is worried he’ll bump into a wall with his torn back.

Steve scowls, the question sounds like a trap. “You offered,” he says, because it’s the truth and not an agreement. “I _desire_ that you _leave_.”

James smiles, a slow, wicked stretch of lips that holds no mercy. Steve can tell he won’t like what he is about to hear.

“How can you absolve yourself of sin doing this, when you lie even now?”

Scowling harder, hoping the vampire will take the hint, Steve says, “I am allowed to desire more than one thing.”

“It’s not me you are trying to convince.” James lifts his arms to Steve’s shoulders and they’re hot against his chilled skin. “Your back tells me you have tried before,”

It’s difficult, but Steve slides from beneath James’ hands, trying to circle around the vampire. James just moves into his way, and Steve has to stop or risk coming chest to chest with that thinly covered muscle.

Unable to escape, Steve returns to the argument at hand.

“If I continue, that _should_ tell you I’ve found success.” 

James takes a step back.

“No, it only tells me you would rather martyr yourself than admit who you are. I’m a monster, I know it. I admit it. Who are you, Father?”

“And here I thought you wanted to be _more_.”

“Yes,” James nods, gaze steady, “but I won’t be fooled into forgetting what I was first. If I can be saved, I want it, but I won’t pretend there isn't blood on my hands.”

“And you think I’m, what, _pretending_?” Steve scoffs, irritated by the audacity of the vampire and latching onto that feeling so as to ignore how much he wants the man. “If I were _pretending,_ we wouldn’t be standing here, because I wouldn’t be asking for forgiveness. If I were _pretending_ , I’d have killed you the second I laid eyes on you. I know who I am, James. I want to be _better_.”

James looks at the crucifix mounted on the wall. It’s a simple, wooden thing, with a figurine of Jesus cast from metal affixed to it.

“I came here knowing that,” James said, a light in his red eyes. “Death would not be a surprise. Not salvation, but a fitting end nonetheless.” James turns his luminous gaze back to Steve. Standing proud and strong in this tiny room, he is breathtaking. The dark curls of his hair have all but escaped the silk tie, framing his face. “You told me there was more worth in accepting myself and going forward. That I could do more good alive than dead.” 

“Because it’s _true_.” Steve throws up his hands, waving toward the flog where it lies in a mess on his floor. “Why do you think I _do_ this?”

James’ eyes pin Steve in place more surely than any bonds could. 

“Then why do the rules apply to me, but not to you? Why am I good enough to save, but you have to become someone else, kill and brutalise part of yourself? Do you want me to do that too?” Steve shakes his head, but can’t bring his mouth to open. “Cut pieces of myself out for God to be satisfied?”

“Every man’s path to God is different,” Steve whispers. “I was given mine.”

“You torture yourself for things that are not of your choosing. Doesn’t that mean I should torture myself too, for I feel a thirst for blood that will never go away as long as I breathe.”

“I took vows!” Steve shouts, James’ gaze and his judgement too much to bare, all at once. “I chose this path. Did you? No!”

“Have you chosen to feel desire for my flesh?” James asks bluntly, his hand hitting his chest in emphasis. “Have you chosen to feel whatever you did all the other times you hurt yourself?”

 _No_ , Steve thinks, but he knows that’s not all of it. Not entirely. “I made vows not to. There are consequences to breaking them.”

“Does the punishment change anything?”

Steve closes his eyes.

“Does it keep you from feeling desire again? Or is it a case of you straying over and over, and only being sorry afterwards?”

“I am sorry _during_!” Steve shouts, and he hates himself, and these questions. “Why are you _doing_ this? Please,” opening his eyes, he lets himself find his bed and slump onto it. He hurts, physically and mentally, and blames the exhaustion for what he says next. “What have I done to deserve you doing this?”

“I have seen so much pain and blood, I have caused so much suffering to people both innocent and guilty.” James voice is slowing, gentling even as he creeps toward Steve’s bed. “If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that pain and suffering never _help_ anyone. Not the living. Not the dead. It fixes nothing. It’s just a waste; a useless, horrible waste.”

Steve shakes his head.

“I made vows,” he says again, “I… A priest should not want the way I do, so I fail again and again, as you so _kindly_ pointed out. But I try, and I atone, and I can only pray God knows how sorry I am and will forgive me.”

“Can a man...” James whispers. “Can a man want? Desire?” His voice is just a warm breeze, a caress in the cold room. “Love?” He is close enough, Steve can smell the scent of his skin. “Is that bad?”

“No,” Steve says, though he suspects these questions are another trap. James is smart, witty, and Steve likes that almost as much as the way he fills out his pants, “God… To know love is to know God.”

James tilts his head, his hair falling to the side, and slithering down his shoulder.

“How then, can you know God if you don’t know love at all? Can you know the taste of oranges if you have never tried one?”

“Desire is not love,” Steve pushes his hair out of his face, though he wants to push James’ out of his. 

“Isn't it just a first step to love?” James voice is so, so soft.

Irritated again, Steve shakes his head.

“Love is more than the physical.” He’s about to launch into an argument on love and sex, the assumption that he’s never loved at all, when he slashes his hand through the air and changes the subject because it’s all pointless. This is another trap, an assumption from James baseless belief that Steve has never known love. “What - Why are you so insistent on this? Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I know darkness. I live in it every day. I feel it destroy me piece by piece. In that darkness, there is no love, there is not even honest desire - just manipulation and suffering, endless anger and pain. To see something so soft, so harmless and gentle be mutilated in the name of faith… is like having the promise of a dawn be replaced by darkness of the night. If even those who dwell in the light can not love, or be loved, then how can a creature like me ever be forgiven, much less loved?”

Steve’s breath makes a sound of exasperation as it leaves his chest.

“I made _vows_ ,” he says again. “Vows to _God_. Do you think me some naive, innocent who doesn’t know the pleasures of the flesh?” Steve blinks and straightens. “You do, don’t you? You think I’ve never loved, or fucked - I was a _warrior_ , James. I have spent many a night in another's bed; I think that’s half my problem, I know what I’m missing.” He doesn’t mean to leer, but his gaze can’t help but slide down James’ chest. He definitely knows what he’s missing. “But vows to God are not the same.”

“Did it make it easier?”

“What?”

“Did the other body in your bed, did they make the life of violence easier? Did they make it easier to go on one more day?”

“When it was love,” Steve says, “until the love was gone. The violence always ensured it didn’t stay.”

“And if there had been none of that in your life? If you were merely a warrior, never touched with love at all, would you have ever thought of changing? Of choosing this path of service instead of endless war?”

Steve’s mouth opens to say no, but he closes it instead. He doesn’t know that, has no way of knowing.

“I think,” he says carefully, “that love let me see… what I would have ignored. Maybe just for longer, maybe entirely, but it changed me. It makes my regret stronger.”

“Touch,” James reaches out a hand to Steve, not touching, but holding it close to Steve’s face. “It makes us human, makes us feel, and regret; makes us experience empathy.”

“ _Your_ touch makes me sin,” Steve says, but his tone is dry. 

“Yet to me, it feels like salvation.” Steve freezes, like a rabbit frozen by the cry of an owl. “Like compassion. Like hope.” James is all but whispering. “It’s been so very, very long since I was touched without fear.”

Nothing can keep Steve from reaching out then and taking James’ hand. He holds it gently, no matter what it makes him think, or want, or feel. 

“My sin is _not_ yours,” he says, and finally some steel is in his tone. “It is mine and mine alone.”

“Is it?” James leans in closer, his lips so very close to Steve’s. “When I am part of it?”

“Yes.” Steve should lean back. He should. He should stop staring at James’ lips. “I took the vows.”

“You don’t have to be alone with it,” James murmurs. 

As much as Steve wants it to be James who closes the distance between them, it’s not. Steve pushes forward and their lips brush, a swipe that leaves his lips tingling and his breath hitching. James’ lips are chapped, but still soft, and warm in the way that always catches Steve off-guard with vampires. 

Steve can’t even say it’s James who starts the next kiss, this one hungrier than their chaste brush of lips. They come together hard, James’ hands cupping his head and pulling him close. It’s wrong, Steve knows that it is, that he should kiss James even just for James’ sake, but it’s _good_. James is a wonderful kisser. His tongue teases Steve’s lips open, darts inside, teasing until Steve is chasing it. 

They _play_ , Steve’s blood tingling and his senses on overdrive. He can smell James - wool and a faint hint of smoke - and under that the glorious scent of the man himself. Steve is dizzy from that, from the closeness and the touch he hasn’t experienced in a very long time. He wants more, his body burns and he exhales softly, desperately into James’ mouth. 

With a gasp, Steve tugs from James’ embrace and swiftly stands, putting distance between them. He turns his back to James as well, hiding how much he enjoyed that simple kiss. It’s humiliating and he started it. Everything he’d said about sin, about penance, is coming back to him. He is so weak, so tantalised by the desires of the flesh. It had only been minutes ago that he’d begged God for forgiveness, and yet here he is, loins burning with unquenchable need all over again. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve gasps. “I shouldn’t have. I just… I can’t. I… God,” Steve shoves a shaking hand through his hair, leaning on the small pedestal that holds his candles beneath the cross. He’d stood up too fast and now his back burns with the pain he knows he deserves. “How can I show you there’s a path to salvation when I can’t even stay on my own?”

“It cannot be the only path for you! A lonely and empty life seems such a barren, fruitless choice.“ 

James’ hands are hot when they curl around Steve’s shoulders. Steve’s skin goosebumps as they trail down to his forearms, then even lower. James’ big hands curl around Steve’s wrists, as if they were just a hair's breadth from holding hands. His fingers twitch, eager to reciprocate, to feel that glorious skin under his fingertips and see if James’ flesh is as solid as it looks, as hot as he desires. 

“Lonely, maybe, but not empty. Not fruitless. You’re here… I can help.”

“I won’t let you push me away.“ James’ voice loses some of its softness. 

“I made vows, James,” Steve says, and even he can hear the pleading note to his voice. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry; I’ve chosen my path.”

Heat and tension ratchet up between them once more. Steve swallows, sensing the change in that big body. It’s fascinating, how James can be soft and meek one moment and then the air around him changes. Instead of a broken, begging man, Steve has a predator in his room. 

His body likes it more than the sweetness.

“You choose to beat yourself to death!” The shout is startling, but Steve doesn’t get a chance to argue, to object. James’ hands squeeze his wrists and whirls him about. “No, I won’t allow it. This is wrong, Steven.” Not ‘Father’, Steve vaguely recognizes. “It’s wrong, and I will _show you_ it is wrong.”

Steve isn’t sure what that means, but barely manages a warning before he’s being hauled to the bed. His hard cock likes this idea immensely, but Steve doesn’t. He struggles, pulling back, but James is a vampire. His strength trumps Steve’s on a good day. This is not a good day. Perhaps if Steve hadn't fasted, if he hadn't hurt himself, he might have fought James off. But he did, and he can’t. James hauls him around like a child, shoving him back onto the bed so he’s sitting, wrist still claimed in that powerful grip, and he’s staring up at the vampire.

James’ face is set, intense and focused, but not on Steve’s face. On his…middle. His hair is even wilder than it had been before, and there’s a flush to his cheeks that Steve’s hadn’t noticed. His lips are soft and wet, parted to show just a glimpse of white teeth and a pink, wet tongue. 

“James, please,” Steve pleads, knowing he can’t stop James. “Don’t do this.”

Steve can see how the white cotton of James’ shirt stretches over his shoulders, strains when the muscles there tense. He’d known James was a big man, but it’s different seeing that body so close and feeling his power. Steve’s heart skips a beat, then picks up twice as fast. He’s helplessly fascinated, staring at James, as the vampire flicks his eyes - no longer glowing red, but a pale blue - back up to hold his gaze. 

“You want it.”

James drops to his knees and Steve thinks he has a chance to get free. He tries to stand, but James just grabs his knees, lifts, and Steve has to catch himself on his hands before his torn back can land on unforgiving, rough wool blankets. They’re hauled over James’ shoulders and Steve feels alarmingly vulnerable, his thighs on either side of James’ head, his ankles dangling down his back. James hasn’t stopped staring at him, and he’s so breathtakingly beautiful, Steve isn’t sure how he can find the strength to continue resisting.

“I don’t,” Steve says, but it’s a breathless sound, weak and lacking any conviction. 

“Your reasons are stupid.”

Outraged, Steve snaps, “My--” and James lifts Steve’s hips, one handed, as if Steve is merely a babe. The display of strength makes something in Steve's chest clench and then release, warmth curling low in his belly. He flails, one hand landing on James head, fingers curling into his mass of silky hair. He means to pull, to fight James off, but he has no balance, and James has all the strength. 

James uses the hand not holding Steve in the air to rip the small clothes off of Steve. The cotton gives up with a loud rent and stings his skin. The cold air touches his sensitive skin and Steve gasps, hands flying to his groin to cover himself, to hide the shameful proof of his desire. His cock is full and straining, twitching at James’ proximity, and the way James is staring at it. 

Steve can’t take it. He just can’t. His heart pounds so hard, his lungs feel like they are too small to give him enough air and he turns his face away, utterly ashamed. Of his hard cock, of the desire so very clear to see, of being all but naked when James is fully clothed and staring at him with such hunger. 

“Please,” the word is a whine, high and helpless, “stop.”

“No.”

James doesn’t have to say it. He takes Steve’s wrists again and pulls them away. For the second time, Steve feels exposed, but this is so much worse. Flushing dizzyingly, he looks away and tugs, helplessly against James’ grip. 

He doesn’t see when James wraps his lips around Steve’s tip.

The sound Steve lets out is high and shuddering; a direct translation of the pleasure that assaults his body. It’s been so long - so _damn_ long - since he’s felt anything, even his own hand, and James’ mouth is perfect. It’s hot and wet, with just the right amount of suction. aAd his _tongue.._. His tongue laves his slit, teasing and quick, then caresses his frenulum.

“James,” Steve whispers, and he can’t stop himself from looking. He is aware of every detail, of how James hair slithers forward, how the ends briefly touch his cock before warm, moist air kisses the head. 

He isn’t sure when James lets go of his wrists, but his hands curl around Steve’s hips, possessive and tight. They pull him forward, until his ass hovers on the edge of the bed, and Steve has to put effort into keeping his legs around James’ shoulders. He shouldn't, he should pull away, but James just opens his mouth wide and takes him in deeper, so deep Steve can feel himself hitting the back of James’ throat. He makes another sound then, loud and wanting, surrendering to the sensation. 

He isn’t even pretending to resist now, hands clutching at James’ hair, shoulders, the air. _Anything_ to let him survive the pleasure bursting beneath his eyelids. His body is on fire, heart pounding, ears ringing. It’s so good, so very good; Steve can’t remember ever feeling this good. He wants more. Afraid and ashamed, he wants - _needs_ more. 

And James seems to be read his mind. He gives more, his lips and tongue hard at work sucking him, sucking the soul right out of him, and it’s all too perfect. Steve shouts James’ name, let's the desire and the anguish pour out of his lips as he comes into James’ mouth. Pulsing, he spills and spills, every throb wrenching the pleasure right out of his body. He can taste salt on his lips, his throat dry and sore and his body is still clenching, still tingling, aftershocks of pleasure returning over and over again. 

Reaching down, Steve intends to use James’ hair to pull him off, to put an end this… this rape. Instead, his hands tangle in the soft, dark tresses. He’s petting James, not pulling him off, as James turns his head and kisses his thighs. The hands that held Steve’s hips so tightly skim down them, his thighs, massaging and caressing so Steve is trembling. It’s so _gentle_ , so sweet and tender, like James finds him something to be cherished.

It’s… humbling.

“I, too, can take care of you.“ 

James is hoarse, his voice lacking the smoothness of before. Steve remembers the feel of his cock hitting the back of James’ throat and slipping past it. He flushes, warmth spilling over his cheeks and his neck, making his skin tingle. 

“You’re incredible,” Steve says, but it’s not what he‘d _intended._ He’d meant to tell James to leave, to banish him, but he just can’t bring himself to say that. Not with how good he feels, with a glow just beneath his skin. Like he might float away at any second, fly into the clouds and maybe take his vampire with him. 

James just smiles, then reaches forward, taking hold Steve’s hips once again, and lifting him. Though he tries to resist, Steve’s limbs don’t function entirely under his command. His arm slashes out, then catches the mattress, and he ends lying on the bed face first. He can feel his naked, damp cock pressing against the rough wool of the blankets and moans a complaint. And it is a complaint, because as much as his body wants this, he knows he shouldn’t.

Behind him, Steve can feel James’ sheer presence without even looking. He anticipates the hands on his hips. He does not expect is the breath fanning over his aching back, or the slick touch of a tongue over those wounds. He had only just begun his atonement, but the flogger left behind thin cuts that have been steadily weeping even as they fought. It’s an odd, pleasant sensation that both stings and sparkles. It makes Steve feel _alive_ like it did in the chapel. He’s giving life to the vampire, his skin sensitive from its beating, so he can feel every lick, every brush of lips, and it’s shockingly intimate. Can there be anything moreso? 

“James,” Steve whines, trying to hold back how this is affecting him. Each time he shifts, his soft cock drags over the bedding, sending shocks of sensation up his spine. It runs counterpoint to the pleasurable sting of James’ mouth, leaving him dizzy with conflicting sensations. He aches, he feels incredible. His spine sizzles with pleasure, he can’t tell up from down, let alone how to get away from it all.

James keeps him pinned easily. He lifts Steve’s hips as if he weighs nothing. It only serves to remind him that James is not human. He’s a vampire. At any moment, his control might break. It’s foolishness; it’s downright _suicidal_ what he is doing, and Steve knows he should stop, but he can’t. There’s too _much_.

The shock of fingers pressing against his hole is enough to jolt Steve’s brain back into his body. He arches and twists, trying to get away from the invasive digits as a fresh wave of shame chills him. He swore he wouldn’t do this again, that he wouldn't let himself fall into the the pit of lust and desire. He swore to _God._

Though he bucks and thrashes, all James does is shove Steve’s hips down. It shouldn’t be as effective as it is, but his knees buckle and he’s spread out, James between his legs so he can’t close them either. Steve flushes, lowering his head, ashamed and turned on as that’s all it takes to keep him in place. Try as he might, he’s smushed into the bed, unable to find purchase, and James’ fingers push into him slowly, but inescapably.

“You take me in so well here,” James murmurs in his low, velvety voice as he twists his fingers inside Steve, raking them over that spot that sends fireworks behind his eyelids. Steve barely holds back a moan, closing his eyes tightly, wondering what the hell James has used as lube. It helps, for a few minutes, as James twists and curls, pulses and thumps, scissors and rubs those damned digits within Steve’s traitorous body. He can ignore the filth James is saying as he wonders if it’s lantern oil, or something James brought with him. Perhaps his own blood?

There’s not enough speculation in the world that can keep Steve from shouting as James adds a third finger and curls them all against his prostate. Steve bites down on the sheets, hoping to stifle more sounds by force, if he can't do it by will alone.

“Don’t do that,” James says, pulling his fingers out and tracing the shape of Steve’s hole. “I love the sounds you make.” He pushes the fingers back in, all at once, and even the bedsheets can’t hide Steve’s cry. “Like this,” he praises as he finds that spot to torment Steve. “You were made for this; don’t you see that? You’re so damn gorgeous.”

The three digits twist and turn, focusing on bringing Steve as much pleasure as they can. It’s the only explanation for how damn good it feels. Even if he was strong enough to escape James’ hold, Steve’s knees are now so week he isn’t sure he’d get far. Everything hums, his nerves singing along with the part of his brain that has missed this, wanted it, _needs_ it.

“If you could only see yourself,” James murmurs, his voice rough with velvet seduction. “You are moving so well, so wantonly against me. I bet you will feel just wonderful around me.”

“James, please,” Steve gasps, but can’t continue as a special twist, or press, has him shouting in bliss. Silently, he curses his body, his cock, that is already showing some interest, twitching against the sheets. James isn’t going easy on him. 

Without warning, the fingers inside him withdraw. Both hands close on his hips and Steve knows there are going to be bruises there tomorrow. Then his hips are being lifted and he struggles to get his knees under him, even as he tries not to help. Doesn’t want to help. And yet he’s set in place, his body obeying the unspoken request, knowing what James wants.

“Breathe,” James says as he presses the tip of his cock against Steve’s open hole, “Just breathe.” 

And he pushes in.

Steve chokes on a sound, eyes rolling back in his head. The stretch is familiar and alien, a long-forgotten sensation that he had pretended not to miss. He exhales explosively, his spine dipping on an instinct he would have sworn he didn’t have, so that thick cock can slide in as deep as it can go. He’s making a sound - whining - but he can't care, not with how full he feels. The stretch and weight of James’ intrusion fills some part of him that’s been empty for so long. James is slick and hard and so perfect. The sheets fall from between Steve’s teeth as he rests his forehead against the bed to moan out his pleasure.

He doesn’t want to. He shouldn’t want to.

Steve moans again, louder, as James’ cock pushes deeper and deeper still.

“So good.” James’ voice is a breathy groan as his hips meet Steve’s ass, pressing them as close together as is physically possible. “I knew you would be. God…”

“Do not,” Steve pants, “bring Him,” James is so big, too big, Steve can’t focus on anything else, “into.... _this_.” 

“You are bringing me rapture.” 

James moves at last, pulling out so slowly Steve feels like it lasts decades before the tip of his cock is just inside his hole. Every inch of that thick cock drags against him as it pulls out, and that spot in him sends zings of vicious pleasure through his entire body. 

Steve’s arms can’t keep him up and his chest falls onto the bed, leaving him ass-up and indecently exposed. Yet, James is pushing back in, slow and steady, and it feels _so_ good. For the second time, James’ cock goes as deep as possible before reversing, inexorable as the pleasure setting Steve’s skin aflame. He’s burning and it’s so, so good.

“I can hear how much you love it,” James says, and he’s panting and Steve’s doing that to him, “You keep trying to hide it, but I can hear it. All those little noises, the whimpers; a body this sensitive shouldn’t be denied. Imagine how it will feel… when I do _this_.”

‘This’ turns out to be a change in the glacial pace of James’ hips. At once he surges forward, his thighs striking Steve’s with a clap of flesh-on-flesh. He barely hears it. The pleasure is intense, stealing his vision, leaving nothing behind. Steve shudders and cries out, weak with feeling, and gives himself over. To James’ hands, to his cock; anything he wishes to have.

“Yeah, you like that,” James chuckles, smoothing his hand over Steve’s lower, unmarred back. He hasn’t pulled out yet, and Steve trembles with waiting. “I can feel in the way you’re clenching down on me.” Steve’s body acts as if it’s not his own, reacting to James’ words like commands, pulsing around his cock. They both moan and Steve shudders at the sound of James’ pleasure. His balls tighten and pull up, sending tingles up his spine. “Just like that; yes.”

James’ hand wraps around Steve’s thigh and pushes it out, exposing him to the air, to his sight, and making Steve feel more vulnerable and sweetly indecent. Then the brief reprieve over, and he pulls out in a steady movement that leaves only the head of his cock is pulling at Steve’s rim. It’s so close to slipping out that Steve mewls in protest, but doesn't have the time to do anything else because then James thrusts in, hard and fast, punching the breath right out of him. 

James holds his thighs open and fucks him hard, fast, and so deep his balls slap against Steve’s over and over. The force pushes Steve forward, his nipples rubbing against the sheets, and he has to shove his hands up, bracing against the stone wall, to keep from cracking his head against it. If James notices, he doesn’t show it, because he doesn’t slow. If anything, he speeds up, rubbing Steve’s prostate with every push in and every push out until Steve knows nothing else. He holds himself steady, holds his ass in the air, and takes it, takes everything James gives him, and shouts how much he loves it until it echoes in the small chamber. 

Steve’s ears are full of the sounds James makes, his nose of the sharp scent of sweat, precome mixed and incense wafting in from the cathedral. He’s dizzy and lost, drowning in sensation and smell, helpless beneath James. The orgasm, when it crashes over him, is powerful enough to white out his vision again. He becomes a livewire of sensation as pleasure pulses through him. His cock is jerking and spurting come between his legs, and he floats, tingling and disconnected, aware of only his heartbeat pulsing in his head. 

It takes a moment, or maybe an eternity, before he finds his body again. James hasn’t stopped, but the movement is slower now, but just as wonderful. A half-moan, half-confused complaint escapes Steve because it’s too much. He hasn’t had sex in years, anything that turned him on ended in atonement, in pain, and now this isn’t ending. It isn’t ending and it feels so good, too good.

“Please,” Steve whines, unable to move his arms to even try to pull away, “enough…”

“Shh,” James spreads his hand over Steve’s cheeks, pulling them apart, making his hole stretch so little spikes course up his spine again. “You are so beautiful.” 

With the murmured praise James pulls out slowly and Steve realises he’s not completely hard anymore. He’s wetter too, some of it escaping as James’ tip slips free. Steve shudders again, hands weakly flexing the rough sheets. Yet he doesn’t push back in, so Steve closes his eyes, sighing in relief, and let’s his exhausted body relax. He doesn't resist as James starts manipulating him, pushing and pulling, lying beside him, then half-under him. They end up with Steve curled on James’ chest, his head just beneath his chin, and Steve is aware enough to realize that means James is in the wet spot he’d created. It’s nice, too, being held the way he is. Cradled, really, while James’ hand slides up and down his hip and thigh and the other brushes through his hair.

Steve feels relaxed like he can’t remember being in ages, but he’s not so far gone he hasn’t forgotten how they got here.

“So,” he says thickly as his tongue doesn’t quite want to do what it’s told, “your idea is that, if you fuck me well enough, I’ll… quit the cloth?”

“The idea,” James murmurs, the sound reverberating through his chest and right into Steve, “is that you are an incredible man and you deserve pleasure. You deserve love, _not_ pain.”

Steve sighs, closing his eyes. That was never the point, he thinks as well as, I should get up. The latter thought doesn’t even manifest as a twitch in his limbs. He likes it here, their warm skin touching from head to toe. He likes James’ hands on him.

“I don’t deny myself sex for pain, James,” Steve mumbles, because if he’s not going to move he’s damned well going to argue, “I told you that.”

“But you think yourself unworthy of God's love for who you love.”

“No,” Steve’s sigh is louder, but his body is just as still, “I _told_ you, it’s about the vows I took. My sin is breaking my vows. It’s not about who I want, it’s that I want at all.” Slowly, he presses his hand against James' chest because he can, and he’s missed just this, just _contact_. “Are you listening this time?”

“I am,” James is careful, almost gentle, the way parents are towards children that need to hear bad news, “but if you struggle with your vows, doesn’t it mean they aren’t true?”

“I…” If Steve hadn’t been motionless, he would have become so. Instead he shoves himself up, dispelling the pleasant stillness of their contact, and scowls at James. “I- I doubt, that’s all, it’s just…”

James’ eyes are as kind as his voice, but for once he doesn’t answer. He just reaches up to brush away the hair falling into Steve’s eyes. It’s that, more than anything, that makes Steve’s stomach twist with uncertainty. Someone manipulating him would push, they would argue and argue until blue in the face. They wouldn’t be like this, quiet and certain, or comforting as Steve struggles with something difficult to refute.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” James’ gaze is painfully honest, his scarlet eyes unfathomably deep. “I know what it’s like to have your whole word turn out to be a lie.”

Steve laughs, but the sound is hollow even to his own ears. 

“If only it were the first time.” James hasn’t stopped touching him, sweet and tender, and Steve finds his own hands wandering, running over all those glorious muscles. “But it’s all…” He shakes his head. He’s devoted himself to this, to helping, to atoning. Can he really say it’s hopeless?

“Maybe this path wasn’t meant for you?”

“And what else should I do?” Steve closes his eyes, curls forward. “I won’t go back to killing.”

“Just because you are not a priest does not mean you cannot serve God. You saved my life, vows or not.”

“I saved you as a man of God. I… I _won’t_ go back to killing.” Steve sits up again, and James’ hands fly to his shoulders as if he’s afraid he’ll leave. “I left that life behind me for a reason. Because the Church claimed people like you, vampires, were just demons, and I saw it wasn’t true. I saw and that meant…” Steve hasn’t broken eye contact because James, more than _anyone_ will understand. The vampires he killed that refused to fight back, the ones that ran, the humans who tried to stop him which he assumed were just in thrall. So much death and innocent lives. “There’s so much blood on my hands.”

James pulls Steve back down, ignoring the minor struggle Steve puts up, so he’s again lying on that broad chest. The warmth feels so good that Steve has to close his eyes again. 

“My life might be worthless,” James says slowly, “but it’s also in your hands. You are the sole reason I’m still breathing right now. I was sure I came here to die, to be absolved through my own death. Yet you… you defy expectations. You _saved_ me. _You_. Nothing, and nobody, else. And...” Steve hears James lick his lips, “if you think I can do good, you can’t say there’s no other way for you.”

Groaning, Steve leans his forehead against James’ chest, but sits up again. James lets him go, surprisingly, but then follows, sitting up and shifting his legs so they wrap around James’ back. It’s starting to dawn on Steve that the vampire doesn’t want to let him go, perhaps even wants this simple, non-sexual contact as much as he himself craves it.

“So don’t go back to the Templars, but leave the Church,” Steve says as James pushes up the bed until his back rests against the headboard. “Go where? With you?”

“Yes,” James says fervently, eyes burning. Steve draws his hands up his strong arms, arms holding his lower back, well away from the flog’s wounds. “Yes, with me. Always with me. We can go wherever you want. I’ll be your sword, I’ll stay by your side. You can find your own path. Just because you won’t be with the Church doesn’t mean you’re not with God.”

Steve sighs and closes his eyes, but doesn’t stop touching James . The vampire’s skin is warm under his palms, soft and smooth. The small hairs tickle his palms and he doesn’t want to stop touching, to leave the embrace of James’s arms even were it allowed.

His resolve is weakening and James must sense it because he says, “Tell me you don’t like it, that you don't want this,” his hand slides up, over Steve’s hip, along his side, and he shivers. “That you don't want _me_.”

Steve had been opening his mouth to argue, but the last statement has him pausing. He looks at James, really looks at him, and sees something unexpected in his gaze. A softness. A vulnerability. Steve finds himself leaning forward, searching James’ gaze for… something. Maybe more, maybe a lie, but all he can see is pleading sincerity. In his body language, though, Steve sees so much more. He’s leaned forward only a few inches, but James is leaning in hard, chin tilted up, angling for a kiss. James is pushing this, but Steve suspects he isn't the one most affected.

“That was never the point,” Steve whispers as he keeps leaning forward and breaks his vows with a kiss. Not just any kiss, though. James _melts_ against him, lips parting on a breathy moan that’s caused just by the touch of their lips. It's intoxicating, knowing he’s the cause; James wants him that badly, or wants him to want it. But isn't that the same thing? Either way, Steve leans into it, kissing James harder, deeper, pushing his tongue into the vampire’s mouth and his hands into James’ hair. The strands curl around his fingers, soft but strong, and James moans again as his fingers dig into Steve’s hips. Steve is going to be marked thoroughly after this, but he can't care. Not with James’ lips so pliant and sweet, yet desperate beneath him.

When he pulls back, Steve’s tongue curls around James’ fang and the vampire lets out a soft whimper. Then he’s squeezing Steve’s hips, lifting him, and Steve startles. Not that it matters. James is too strong, setting him back, lowering him and -

_Oh._

Steve’s head falls back as James’ cock presses against his hole for a moment before it slips easily inside him. “James,” he whispers and the vampire makes that tiny whimper again, before lifting him up, the entire length of him slipping out of Steve before he lowers him back down. 

Lowers, not drops. It’s a thrill to feel that kind of strength, power he’s used to knowing at the other end of a fight. He knew vampires could be powerful, but it’s so different when he’s manhandled this way. Up and down, the stretch and fullness making his body sing all over again. He loves it, love’s the way his body wraps around James so perfectly, and how well they work together.

“Steve,” James says, his voice full of longing. No one has gone so far to have him, promised so much. Not the men he’s loved before, certainly no one who has known him for such a small amount of time. It’s heady, like Steve’s been drinking, lifts him up in ways he’d been told prayer should. 

Steve has to admit to himself, he _wants_ this. He wants James. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

“It’s still a sin,” he says, just to be contrary. 

“It’s n-”

“Premarital sex is a sin.”

James scowls, but holds Steve in place, his cock completely filling Steve’s body.

“Is that what you want, then?” James asks, voice low and wrecked. “Devotion? Loyalty? Everlasting commitment? You can have it, if that’s what you want. I would give you anything you wanted.”

Raising his head, Steve looks into James eyes as he wraps his arms around James’ shoulders. He’s serious. It’s a proposal, one that could be assumed as marriage, and James is _serious_. An immortal man has dedicated his life to Steve, while inside him, and Steve can barely contain the way his chest inflates with joy. There’s no other word for it. 

Somehow, he believes James. Believes _in_ him, and he wants this. He’s not sure, not entirely, what God would make of them, or his broken vows. He’s not sure if James is the kind of man who makes these vows on a whim, or how much they matter to him, but that look is still there. The vulnerability that suggests Steve can crush his heart with an errant sentence, and that? Steve believes in that.

He’s never thought it could be this easy. A connection made by accident, an offer so unexpected, yet true. He was so sure love, companionship, wouldn’t be for him. He had believed it impossible after all that he has done. 

And yet, here it is, offered so simply by a once-enemy. For him to accept or deny.

The answer is just as simple. 

One at a time, Steve pulls his knees under himself, gaining purchase and traction. James just sits there, waiting, expecting a response that Steve can’t give. There aren’t the words. Instead, he leans in and bites at James neck to distract him. His blunt teeth cause James to gasp and arch back, and Steve seizes the moment to take control. 

Raising himself up, he feels the thick head of James’ cock pulling at his rim, and then lowers himself down, so his ass is flush against James’ thighs. 

“Yes, Steve, please,” James begs. It goes straight to Steve’s cock, pleasure coiling like a spring in his belly, and he lifts up a little faster than before. 

The slide of skin against skin, the way James fills him, is so arousing, his cock filling in no time at all. James’ hands haven’t let go of him, tight and deliciously bruising, but he's not trying to control the rhythm anymore. Steve smiles, leans back a little and squeezes on his way down. The way James clenches his teeth, throws his head back as sweaty curls cling to his shoulders is a beautiful sight. Steve takes it in, wishing to remember always this moment. 

“Steve!” James gasps louder, and Steve can feel the way James’ cock twitches inside him, the way his hips surge up to meet Steve as he lowers himself back down. Their gazes are locked again, but it’s James who can’t look away. The adoration in James’ gaze is mesmerising, reaching down to Steve’s very soul and healing it in ways Steve had never imagined. There’s shades in his eyes he’d never noticed, flecks of brown and orange, and an internal fire glowing like banked embers. There’s an incredible connection between them. James knows who he’d been and who he is. James knows he’d broken his vows, but he does not see Steve as lacking. He sees Steve as wonderful and precious. 

Steve’s throat tightens. He feels more humble in this moment than he ever had as a Templar, cleansing the world of evil as a servant of God carrying a holy sword into the world. This, here, is the moment Steve feels so astoundingly worthy at the same time it brings tears to his eyes.

The eye contact is too much, too raw, and Steve has to close his as he throws his head back, letting himself drown in the physical sensations of the moment. He relishes the burn in his thighs as he rises up and slams himself down again. He gasps at the hard push of James’ cock piercing him. James echoes the sound, the hands flexing on Steve’s hip bones, palms opening to slide up Steve’s sides, his back. The touch grazes the open wounds on his back and pain makes him jerk and flinch. He hisses and James instantly pulls his hands away, an apology on his lips. It’s swallowed by another gasp as Steve’s body reacts to the injury, clenching down on him. 

Steve rides James faster, unwilling to stop for anything, much less an apology. His small room is filled with the wet sound of flesh on flesh. The scent of sex is thick in the air and it’s all Steve can smell. Their come, their sweat, their desire echoing off the bare walls, and the position; everything is perfect. James’ cock sparks wave after wave of pleasure that Steve doesn’t want to control. He lets it wash over him, lifts himself faster and faster, and forgets - for a moment - any consequences.

James keeps gasping, saying half-formed, rough sentences that Steve can’t interpret besides hearing the rumble of his voice. When he feels James wrap his hand around his cock, he shudders and curls forward. He’s sensitive after his previous orgasm, and James isn’t gentle with his grip. He takes hold of Steve, tight and sure, and drags his palm over the whole length. Then he’s twisting when it’s just the head he’s holding and Steve whines, the sound escaping unbidden. He grips at James’ shoulders hard enough his nails pierce skin, but James isn’t discouraged. Instead, he moans with Steve and starts jerking him off hard and fast.

Steve can barely control his movements, riding out the pleasure. He jerks spasmodically, torn between the desire to be fucked and to thrust into the wondrous grip. James helps, his hips hitching up and it’s just too much; too much sensation, too much skin, too much _touch_. Steve presses his lips against James’, not even a real kiss, just open-mouthed panting and an almost soundless scream as he comes. His body clenches down, James’ cock abruptly feeling ten times bigger, as his cock pulses. Come streaks their bellies as he comes and comes. 

At some point, between one spurt and the next, Steve must have fallen asleep. He assumes, anyway, because it’s the last thing he remembers before waking again. James has him cradled to his chest, their legs tangled together. He’s drooling along James’ shoulder, but the vampire doesn’t seem to mind if he’s kept Steve here all evening. It’s not like _James_ has to sleep, so if he’s still here, and the sun is glinting through the tiny window in the wall, he has held Steve all night.

It’s… endearing.

“Morning,” Steve says, his voice a dark croak. The hand carding through his hair freezes. All of James freezes, actually, and Steve resists smiling. 

His vampire is _nervous_.

“Hi.” 

The small sound is unsure and so strange in the mouth of a man who’d been prepared to argue Steve to death the night before. 

“Hi?” Steve can’t resist teasing. “That’s what you have to say to me?”

James doesn't smile, though. He’s tense under Steve, no longer petting him like he had when he thought Steve asleep.

“How are you feeling?” 

James’ hands are careful now; careful not to touch his back, not to cause pain, or even grope him.

Groaning, Steve stretches out, heedless of the fact that he’s lying atop James’ chest. He pushes his arms up and out, groaning and yawning, drawing out the moment. It’s the least James deserves after forcing himself on Steve.

“Boneless,” Steve finally answers as he slumps back into position. Reaching up, he threads his fingers through James’ and smiles up at the vampire, right into his stunned expression. 

It’s only then that the tension flows out from the body under him. James softens, melts so they feel like two pieces of a whole. The sheets smell like them, the room is still full of their presence. It feels like a sanctuary, a tiny place where nothing else but them exists.

“You aren’t mad at me?”

“Hmm,” Steve hums, because he _i_ s a little irritated _._ They’ll have to have a discussion about what James can and cannot do just because he’s stronger. That, though, can wait. For now, he lets nerves re-enter James’ gaze before smiling coyly. “Difficult to be mad at a man after being proposed to so… thoroughly.”

There’s just the barest hitch in James breath, before says, “If a man finds a rare jewel like you, it’s only sensible to hold onto it with both hands.”

“And your dick,” Steve says dryly.

“Simply one more appendage to use,” James murmurs in that same, serious tone. Steve loves him a little for it.

Scooting up James’ chest, he kisses his cheek, and squeezes his hand.

“So, husband, where are we going?”

“J-just like that?” James’ eyes are round and wide. “I… You’re really not mad?”

“Irritated,” Steve admits. “We can discuss it… when we get where we’re going.”

“So you’re saying yes?”

Steve eyes James, then sits up a little.

“Are you hard of hearing?”

“I have been accused of a lot,” James sits up fully, pulling Steve by wrapping his arms around Steve’s torso, “but never of that.” James nuzzles the hair at Steve’s temple. “I am a worthless wretch,” his voice is low but is tense enough to send shivers down Steve’s back, “but I will love you like no other.”

With a soft growl, Steve tugs at James’ gorgeous hair, “No one talks about my husband like that and gets away with it.” When James blinks at him in confusion, he smiles and murmurs, “Loving you is a wonderful blessing.”

The small ray of sun sneaking through the window turns from red to gold. It’s too high up to touch Steve, so it can’t hurt James, but it’s enough for Steve to see the tiny motes of dust floating in the beam. He can feel the chill of the air on the skin of his back, can feel the warmth and strength of the body holding onto him. He feels calmer than he ever has in his entire life.

“Let’s decide where we’re going together,” James says abruptly. “I’ll patch up your back and we’ll… Together. I want to show you… so much of the world.”

“I’ve seen the world,” Steve laughs, charmed despite himself.

“But you haven't seen it with _me_.”

Slowly, Steve smiles, then leans in for for a sweet kiss. The future is no longer certain, but it’s full of hope and promise. Steve could ask for nothing more.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and visit us on Tumblr
> 
> [xantissa](http://xantissa.tumblr.com)
> 
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